


Do No Harm

by Aini_NuFire



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, BAMF Uhura, Friendship, Gen, Hurt McCoy, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Star Trek Beyond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-17 16:38:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9333671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: While investigating an apparently abandoned planet, the away team is attacked by a small remnant of survivors. Their doctor isn’t interested in aid, though. He practices a completely different kind of medicine…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been poking at my muse ever since I saw Star Trek Beyond last summer, and I've *finally* gotten it out. This isn't my usual fandom, but I hope some of my readers enjoy it anyway. Or some new ones. :) It's just a short five-chapter mission-gone-wrong fic with some h/c. Updates will post Sunday mornings and Wednesday afternoons.
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own anything in this universe, just wanted to dip my feet in it to play. I've also borrowed some elements from another sci-fi show for parts of this story. Kudos if you recognize which one. Thanks to 29Pieces for beta reading!

 

_Captain's Log, Stardate 2264.93. The Enterprise is currently in orbit around a small, class M planet that appears to have advanced technological capabilities, warranting a first meeting with the Federation. However, despite our scans of the planet surface and its sprawling cities, we have yet to detect a single life sign. I've ordered a landing party consisting of myself, Cdr. Spock, Dr. McCoy, and Lt. Uhura to beam down and see if we can't make contact._

"Captain, it would be more prudent to adorn ourselves in the garb of the inhabitants so that we may blend in for the initial contact rather than risk alarming anyone."

Jim mentally rolled his eyes. "Which I would do, Mr. Spock, if there were any video transmissions to intercept which would give us a clue as to what they're like."

But there were none of those. There were no transmissions or signals at all on any frequency, as if the civilization on this planet hadn't developed past the equivalent of Earth's Victorian Age. But they knew that to be inaccurate, as the _Enterprise_ had taken long-range images of cities with huge, magnificent skyscrapers made of glass and streets of polished marble. There were even what looked like a network of tracks for a monorail form of transportation. The one important image they'd failed to capture, however, was of any _people_.

Jim strode into the transporter room where McCoy and Uhura were already waiting. "Have the coordinates, Mr. Scott?"

"Aye, sir. We'll beam ya down just outside the city."

Jim ascended the short steps and took his place on the transporter platform, Spock right behind him.

"It's not too late for me to go back to Sickbay," Bones spoke up at his shoulder. "Chekov's still got that strange rash and should probably be monitored closely."

"Where's your sense of adventure, Bones?"

McCoy scowled. "Apparently with my sense of self-preservation—somewhere _else_."

Jim smiled at the familiar routine of his CMO trying to get out of away missions. It never worked, but that didn't stop Bones from trying. And, really, at this point in their five-year mission, he was only grousing for show.

With a grin, Jim gave Scotty a nod. "Energize."

The swirling gold lights that were characteristic of the demolecularization process filled Jim's vision until it went blurry and then dark. A moment later, the transporter room was gone, replaced with a dazzling vista of a river cutting through a forest on the left and winding through the center of the city on the right. Sunlight glinted off glass skyscrapers, nearly blinding Jim if he tilted his head up at the wrong angle.

He heard the whir of a tricorder, and turned to see Spock already taking readings. "Anything, Mr. Spock?" Jim asked.

"Negative, Captain. I am detecting no life signs in the vicinity."

Jim gazed at the road leading into the city, and shrugged. "Well, guess we try knocking on doors." He started off, the away team falling into step behind him.

The weather was actually beautiful, with a warm breeze wafting off the water. Sometimes it carried a whiff of something floral, maybe citrusy. And the scenery was rather pleasant. In fact, more people should have been outside enjoying a stroll on a day like today, and it prickled the back of Jim's mind with caution that there wasn't.

The city's streets were conspicuously empty. Not a single shop door was open, and the windows were coated in an opaque layer of dust. Everything had looked pristine and glistening from a distance, but now that they were up close, it was clear that this place had apparently been abandoned.

"Looks like a ghost town," McCoy uttered.

Jim roved his gaze around. There weren't any signs of destruction or attack to suggest why a city like this would have been permanently evacuated. He strode to the nearest building and searched for a door. There was a sliding glass panel, which swished open with the grating sound of dirt caught in the tracks. Jim arched a brow. Maybe the city had run on solar energy. As long as the panels and connections were intact, there was no reason simple operations couldn't function…well, he'd say indefinitely, but Spock would correct the exaggeration. Jim squinted to see inside the dingy space. It looked like a restaurant or eatery, with tables and chairs and a counter. Nothing else, though.

Jim stepped back outside. The others had begun to spread out, investigating other nearby structures.

"There aren't even any bodies," McCoy said, making his way back to Jim from next door. "It's like they just up and vanished."

"It is puzzling," Spock added.

Uhura was a block down, studying some signage. She'd been picked for this away mission in case the universal translators didn't cover everything. Seemed like her talent wouldn't be needed, though, since there was no one around to speak with.

"Let's split up," Jim decided. "Com if you find anything."

Spock nodded, and instantly pivoted to set off. McCoy leveled a disgruntled look at Jim.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Jim spread his arms. "No one's here, Bones."

He huffed. "Yeah, but I bet _you'd_ manage to find trouble even on an uninhabited planet."

McCoy spun around and marched away before Jim could come up with a retort to that. Honestly, things didn't _always_ go wrong. Maybe a _lot_ … But hey, if a starship captain tasked with seeking out new worlds wasn't finding trouble around every bend, then he wasn't doing it right.

Jim picked a direction and headed down a side street. Everything pretty much looked like everything else—undisturbed, vacant, abandoned. There were a few doorsteps with pots of dark green, fern-like plants that had thrived in this moderate climate despite the obvious neglect. The river glittered where it cut through the city, and Jim walked out to the edge of a bridge that linked to the opposite side. There were bridges spaced every fifty yards up and down the river. How many people must have lived here? And what had happened to them?

Jim turned around, deciding to head back since his search wasn't turning up much, and he barely caught the flash of green shooting toward him in time to duck. The phaser fire skimmed the top of the bridge. Jim whipped out his phaser gun and darted for the nearest cover behind a building. Guess this place wasn't as empty as they'd thought.

Jim risked peeking around the corner, and jerked back when another blast of plasma energy zinged past him. He pulled out his communicator. "Kirk to Away Team, I've got company."

"I am on my way, Captain," Spock instantly replied.

Jim flicked the signal switch again to open another channel. "Kirk to _Enterprise_."

There was no response.

He frowned and tried again. "Kirk to _Enterprise_ , do you read? Mr. Scott!"

More phaser fire erupted, aimed his direction and getting closer. Jim snapped the communicator closed and stashed it back in its belt clip. Adjusting his phaser setting to stun, he slipped around the back of the building, trying to skirt around and come up behind whoever was firing at him.

He wasn't familiar with these streets, and apparently his assailant had predicted the maneuver, because when Jim rounded the last corner, he was met by a cloaked figure grabbing his arm and swinging him around into the wall. The phaser fell from his hand. Jim instinctively threw a punch. His attacker's head snapped to the side, his hood falling off. When he whipped his head up again, Jim froze, stunned by the grotesque figure before him. He was humanoid, that much was clear, but one whole side of his face was twisted with tumorous knots. He had one milky eye on that side and brown on the other.

"I mean you no harm," Jim said, even though the universal translator hadn't been able to sample the inhabitants' language in order to translate. He raised his palms in a non-threatening gesture in the hopes of conveying the message nonetheless.

The man let out a chuff that sounded rather hostile, and swung a fist at Jim's head. He threw his arm up to block, and followed through with an undercut to the stomach that punched the air from the guy's mouth in a grunted wheeze. Jim would almost feel guilty for beating up a disfigured man, if the guy wasn't trying to kill him first.

Jim caught a right hook in the jaw and slammed back against the wall again. He ducked under the next swing and spun around to kick the guy in his lower back, propelling him into the wall instead. Then he snatched up his phaser and fired. The attacker fell limp and slumped to the ground.

Jim took a moment to catch his breath. "Bones is gonna milk this for days," he grumbled to himself. He eyed the now unconscious man, half a dozen questions running through his mind that he wouldn't be getting an answer to any time soon.

A green phaser bolt shot past his head, exploding a window and showering Jim in glass shards. He ducked and twisted around to return fire, but Spock stepped out from a side street and delivered a Vulcan nerve pinch to the second shooter. Unfortunately, this guy didn't drop like Jim expected him to. Maybe the hunchback formation on his right side meant his nerves weren't in the normal place.

With a raging bellow, the shooter turned and swung his phaser rifle at Spock, catching the Vulcan across the face. Spock went down, and Jim leaped to his feet and started running forward. The shooter whirled back to him, but rather than raising his weapon to fire again, he bowed forward at the last second, catching Jim in the chest and using his own momentum to flip him up and over his misshapen shoulder.

Jim crashed into Spock just as the commander was attempting to get up, and they both went sprawling on the ground again. Jim's phaser clattered out of his hand. He scrambled to disentangle himself from Spock's equally flailing limbs, and gained his feet just as the attacker lumbered forward and swung a fist at his head. Jim blocked, but the impact vibrated painfully down his forearm. He threw a punch and got one in return that made stars momentarily burst across his vision.

Spock grabbed the assailant's arm and tried to wrench him off Jim. The guy let go alright, long enough to clap both hands over the Vulcan's ears that probably left Spock's head ringing. This guy was pretty strong for a half-cripple—Jim had noticed a slight limp to go with the hunchback, but it wasn't slowing the guy down much.

Jim attacked again, trying to get him in a headlock or something. That wasn't really feasible. They grappled, exchanging more blows before a beefy hand lashed out to close around Jim's throat. He instantly shot his hands to the fingers, trying to pry them away. He hadn't noticed how close he'd gotten to the bridge. Neither had the assailant, apparently, because when he lifted Jim off the ground to swing him to the side, the momentum carried them both over the edge and into the water.

The hand around Jim's throat vanished in the splash, and he coughed reflexively, which let water gush into his mouth. He clamped it shut and tried to swim back up, but the current was surprisingly strong, and he felt himself getting carried faster and faster. His head broke the surface long enough to gasp in a lungful of air, but then he was dragged under again and flung this way and that. His shoulder slammed into the side of the stone canal, and the cry of pain that escaped exchanged precious oxygen for water.

Jim kicked against the current, but then he collided with something else, and everything went dark.

* * *

McCoy had just heard Jim's message over the communicator— _knew he'd find trouble_ —when he turned around and came face to face with the business end of a phaser rifle. _And now trouble's found you, McCoy_.

He raised his palms in surrender. Maybe they were just defending their home. The away team was a bunch of foreign, strange-looking visitors, after all. Though, where the hell had these people come from when sensors hadn't even detected them?

"Easy," McCoy said in a soft, level tone. "We come in peace."

The man holding a gun trained on him didn't respond. Where was Uhura when you needed her?

McCoy narrowed his eyes as he studied the figure in front of him. His skin was a mottled patchwork of brown, pink, and white, like the human skin condition vitiligo. That was a genetic susceptibility that once triggered became an auto-immune disease. McCoy knew nothing about this man's physiology, but he imagined the same principle behind the condition applied.

"Look," McCoy tried again. "We're peaceful explorers—"

The sounds of phaser disruptors firing echoed from a few blocks away. McCoy's stomach tightened. He had no way of knowing who was doing the shooting—and who was being shot at. But he had a good guess.

The man gestured with his phaser rifle and said a word McCoy didn't understand, but he caught its drift. He had a brief moment to consider fighting back, of trying to wrench the gun away from this guy, but then three more came from around a corner, two restraining Uhura's arms between them. McCoy suddenly liked his odds less.

Their gazes met, and though Uhura's was full of fiery defiance, she held herself in a somewhat subdued stance. McCoy frowned at the tear in her sleeve, the tattered edges of fabric blackened by phaser burn. It looked more like a graze than a direct hit, but McCoy wasn't given time to examine it. The barrel of the phaser rifle was thrust in his face and jerked to the side menacingly.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," he muttered.

With hands still raised non-threateningly, he slowly turned and let himself be prodded through the city. They stopped at the edge and waited, though McCoy didn't know for what. There was no sign of Jim or Spock, and McCoy couldn't help but worry at that.

He found himself studying their captors, and was bemused as he noticed each of them seemed to possess some kind of deformity or other. One was nearly bald save for a few wispy threads of hair hanging down his shoulders. Or maybe it was a she. It was actually a little difficult to tell. Another had ectrodactyly, a cleft hand that looked like a mutilated claw. And the last simply looked sickly with a grey tinge to his skin and sunken eyes. It was a rather strange array of genetic abnormalities, birth defects, and possible diseases. The doctor in McCoy wanted to offer assistance, though where to start? Plus, without the ability to communicate, any move on McCoy's part could be interpreted as hostile. He'd have to bide his time and hope that either the universal translators picked up more than a single word, or that Jim would come in guns blazing and rescue them, and they could go back to the ship before addressing the problem.

No such luck, on either.

A few minutes later, one more of the motley group came hobbling out of the city toward him. He made a few grunts of something under his breath, and then that phaser rifle was being jabbed at McCoy's chest and he and Uhura were being herded into the forest. McCoy had no idea what to make of Jim's and Spock's conspicuous absence. Had they managed to escape and hide? Or…had they been injured in a fire fight and left for dead?

McCoy tried to stop his train of thoughts from derailing into panic and fatalistic assumptions, but he was damn worried. He focused on Uhura instead. Her injury looked minor, but McCoy was able to center himself if he concentrated on being a doctor—watching her gait for signs of faltering, scrutinizing her face for indications of pain or shock setting in, and what not.

She walked with chin held up, however, and the visible tightness in her jaw could have been as much to do with indignation at being taken prisoner or her own worry for Spock, as it could have been from physical pain.

The trek through the forest seemed to go on forever, though McCoy guessed that in actuality, it was less than an hour, more than half of that. The thick canopy of trees finally parted at the base of a huge escarpment. A massive compound with multiple levels had been built into the cliffside, some sections jutting out further than others in panoramic discs.

McCoy paused long enough to take it in, and to feel the stirrings of dread, before he was shoved from behind to keep going. Their captors had barely spoken a word the entire time, and the march into the compound was eerily silent, for the inside was just as empty and dusty as the city had been. There weren't any signs that anyone besides these five "escorts" even lived here. If one could call it living, McCoy thought wryly as he swept his gaze over dark computer terminals and broken furniture. This place actually looked as though it'd undergone an attack or ransacking.

There was a functioning lift, and after being shuffled inside, McCoy felt it rise, bypassing a couple of floors before finally stopping. Then he and Uhura were led through another corridor until they came to what looked like the heart of the compound's control center—conduits ran back and forth across the ceiling in a complicated network that only someone like Scotty would be able to make sense of.

Underneath the ducts and cables was a row of barred cells that looked as though they'd been constructed haphazardly with panels of wrought-iron fence work and other pieces of metal welded together in a makeshift dungeon. McCoy and Uhura were brought in front of one and promptly divested of their gear. Two of the guards took their communicators and McCoy's medical bag, stepping back to examine them while the other two pushed the Starfleet officers into a cell.

A sixth figure stepped out of the shadows, and based on his austere posture and shrewd eyes, he was the one in charge. He had white hair and a pockmarked face, and what looked like an oxygen port in the hollow of his throat.

Uhura lifted her chin. "Who are you and what do you want?"

The leader didn't answer. McCoy figured it'd be pretty hard to negotiate with your captors if they couldn't understand a word you were saying. One of the minions moved forward and held out McCoy's medical bag to the leader.

"Hey, be careful with that."

The man in charge opened the bag and picked through its contents, then flicked a thoughtful look at them. He tapped a device on his wrist, and there was a staccato series of clicks before he began to speak in words that McCoy understood. Looked like somebody's translator was working.

"Which one of you is the doctor?" the leader wheezed.

McCoy took a step forward. "I am. And I'd like to treat my crew mate's injury, if you don't mind."

The leader regarded him for a prolonged moment, but then moved closer and passed the medical bag through the bars. McCoy slowly reached out to take it, then stepped back a safe distance and turned to Uhura as he pulled out a tricorder to run over her arm. She never took her eyes off their captors.

"We're peaceful explorers," she said. "Please, we mean you no harm. I am Lieutenant Nyota Uhura, and this is Doctor Leonard McCoy."

McCoy tried not to be distracted, though he felt the leader's eyes keenly on him as he got out the dermal regenerator.

"I am Selmar," the man finally spoke with a wheeze.

McCoy finished and zipped up his bag. He didn't know if this Selmar would demand it back, though he wasn't inclined to comply. But maybe they'd just gotten off on the wrong foot and this first encounter could be salvaged.

Selmar nodded to his guards, who moved to open the cell door. McCoy had the fleeting thought that they were being released, but two lackeys grabbed him by the arms and began hauling him out, while another pointed his weapon at Uhura so she'd stay put.

McCoy tried to wrench out of their grip as he was brought toward Selmar. The leader looked at him with a pursed moue.

"The two of us should have a chat," Selmar said. "Doctor to doctor."

McCoy frowned. Selmar was a doctor? Given the condition of his small contingent, maybe they needed medical help, which McCoy could offer in exchange for their freedom.

But as he was roughly led down the corridor, he suspected it wouldn't be so simple.


	2. Chapter 2

 

McCoy was escorted to another floor entirely, and then into a spacious room that looked like a laboratory. There were counters with vials and test tubes and diagnostic equipment spaced around the room. A main computer terminal sat at the opposite end from the door, in front of a panoramic window, and in the middle was an exam chair…which had arm restraints.

Selmar's men kept to the edges, not crowding McCoy, but he didn't think for a moment that he wasn't still a prisoner. He did a slow survey of the room, unsure of what exactly Selmar wanted from him. The supposed "doctor" was currently at one of the smaller computer stations, and a moment later McCoy froze as a series of energy beams emitted from the ceiling and scanned him. A holographic, 3D image popped up to his right, displaying what he assumed were his bio readings. McCoy bit back a scathing remark about the invasiveness of taking such a thorough scan without asking permission; he wasn't exactly in a position to do anything about it, after all.

"Hm," Selmar hummed thoughtfully. "Your genetic makeup is not all that dissimilar from the original inhabitants of this planet."

McCoy furrowed his brow. "Original inhabitants?" he repeated. "What does that make you?"

"My ship crashed here a long time ago," Selmar replied, that rasp from his oxygen port dragging out his words.

McCoy glanced out the window. From here, he could see out over the forest to the abandoned city glittering in the sun. "What happened to the original inhabitants?" Surely this planet couldn't be _completely_ empty save for this ragtag group.

Selmar shrugged. "Disease, war. The typical ruinations of societies."

McCoy couldn't help roving his gaze over the ill and deformed men. He suspected there was much more to that story.

"Your companion said you are peaceful explorers," Selmar went on. "You came on a starship?"

McCoy hesitated at the excited lilt in Selmar's tone. Granted, if he and his crew had crashed and been stranded here for a while, they probably wanted a way off this planet. "Yeah. We're on an exploratory mission to seek out new life and new civilizations," McCoy replied, giving the company line. "When we detected the level of technology here, we thought we'd make contact as representatives of the Federation."

Selmar canted his head. "Federation of what?"

"Uh, United Federation of Planets." Where were Selmar's people from if they hadn't heard of the Federation before?

The man's eyes lit up at that. "Then, there are various species incorporated in your…Federation?"

McCoy nodded slowly. "If you're needing medical help…" Again, he hesitantly glanced at the other figures in the room. "We have a lot of doctors well-versed in xenobiology. Including myself."

"Really? What sorts of species man your starship?" Selmar asked. "Are they all humanoid? How diverse are their genetic makeups?"

McCoy frowned. "What kind of medicine did you say you practiced?"

Selmar's lips quirked the barest fraction before he resumed an almost academic mien. "Surely you can understand my interest, as a fellow doctor."

McCoy was starting to get the sense that he didn't want to be lumped in the same category as this man. "No offense, but you did shoot at us and take us prisoner. Now, if you need medical help, I'm sure my captain would be willing to negotiate a truce." _If he's not up shit creek himself_ , McCoy mentally added.

Selmar's mouth twitched again, this time in smug amusement. "I have other methods for finding out what I want to know."

As though that was a secret code, two guards suddenly surged forward to converge on McCoy. He would have fought back, but there were three more blocking the exit. That didn't mean he didn't put up a bit of a struggle as he was yanked over to the exam chair. He managed to throw one thug off balance, at least, before he was wrestled into the chair and the metal cuffs snapped around his wrists.

"A doctor must be familiar with the most intimate details of his patients if he is to provide proper care," Selmar commented casually. "Even more so on a starship."

McCoy glowered at him. "Your point? What do you want?" The edges of the metal bit into his wrists as he futilely tried to pull his hands free.

"Information," Selmar replied. "Species, physical makeup, unique attributes."

"What for?"

"I'll be asking the questions." Selmar nodded to his men, and one of them stepped closer to clamp his hands on top of McCoy's head and under his chin, holding him completely still. Selmar lifted a small metallic disc and pressed it to McCoy's temple. He heard a tiny click, immediately followed by a brief lance of pain. The guard released him.

"Now," Selmar continued, moving toward a visual monitor. "Let's start with something simple, such as your captain's name, stats, and any qualities held in high regard by most societies."

McCoy opened his mouth to say there was no way in hell he was going to give up any of that, but before he could, there was a small buzz in the side of his head, and the monitor flashed with an image of Jim. McCoy heard his own voice cracking a snarky retort about how the kid's genius-level IQ should be able to come up with exit strategies that didn't involve him getting clobbered all the time.

McCoy gaped in stunned belief. _How_ …?

"Interesting," Selmar mused. "Show me more."

McCoy tried to make his mind go blank, but the instant a thought flitted through his head, prompted by a question from Selmar, the device seemed to latch onto it and drag it out, broadcasting the memory on the screen for all of them to see in full technicolor and surround sound. And he couldn't turn it off.

* * *

Spock dialed his phaser to the lowest setting and pointed it toward the pile of rocks he'd just stacked together. The nadion particle bolt struck the stones with enough energy to heat them throughout, and now they glowed a dull orange as warmth radiated back out. He glanced at Jim to his right, lying unconscious and soaked on a bed of mulch-covered ground. After the captain had gone over the bridge, Spock had sprinted along the canal in search of a location where Jim could climb his way out. But then Jim had disappeared under the surface, and Spock had dove into the water after him. He'd found the captain quickly enough, but the current was strong, and had carried them completely out of the city. It wasn't until it slowed in a more shallow section in the woods that Spock was able to swim them both to shore.

But now they were separated from the rest of the away team with no means of contacting the _Enterprise_ , as his and Jim's communicators had been lost in the river. It also meant they couldn't contact the doctor or Nyota. Spock didn't want to admit that he was worried about her. Worry was a distracting emotion and he should know better, but the longer he was involved with her, the harder it became to shove those feelings so far down they couldn't touch him.

But Nyota could handle herself. So, despite the anxiety niggling at the back of his mind, Spock took comfort in that fact. His more pressing concern was whether Jim was severely injured or not. His tricorder did not read any critical or failing life signs, but Spock was not a doctor and therefore not qualified to make any kind of diagnosis. He would have to wait for Jim to regain consciousness to see if there were any hidden injuries. Unless the captain had sustained a severe blow to the head, in which case he might not rouse from his current state.

It was too soon to make such an assumption, though, and so Spock leaned back against a tree trunk, phaser in hand, to keep watch. He did not know what had become of the assailant who had gone over the bridge with Jim, nor how many more there might be within the city, or in this forest. They must be concealed somewhere, for even after Jim's call for assistance came over the communicator, Spock's scans had still not registered any bio readings other than the away team's. It was certainly puzzling. Spock reached for his tricorder and began to recalibrate it. Perhaps if he ran through enough permutations, he might find the one needed to pierce whatever cloaking ability the natives of this planet possessed.

Of course, with a tricorder's limited range, he had no way of testing the readings unless he knew a life form was nearby. So far, it was only showing himself and the captain.

A low moan broke the monotony of the tricorder's clicks and whirs, and Spock looked over as Jim began to stir. The captain reached a hand up to press against his eyelids, letting out another groan.

"Captain?"

Jim blinked groggily and craned his head toward the sound of Spock's voice. "Ungh, Spock?"

"I would suggest you not attempt to move just yet," he responded. "As I have been unable to confirm any injury…" Spock ceased and stared incredulously as Jim started pushing himself up onto his elbows in complete disregard of Spock's cautioning. The captain let out a few more grunts as he heaved himself upright and swept his gaze around their surroundings, brows knitting together.

"Uh, Spock, where are we?"

"The river carried us approximately .8 kilometers from the city."

Jim's brows rose as he took in Spock's wet uniform. "Us?"

"Yes. I jumped into the canal when you failed to surface. I do not know if the alien who attacked you drowned or exited the river at another point," Spock explained. "Our communicators were lost in the current, but we have one phaser and one tricorder remaining between us. Now, Jim, if you would please take a moment to consider your own condition—"

Jim waved a dismissive hand. "I'm fine, Spock. Just bruised."

"I believe that is for Dr. McCoy to say."

Jim's expression fell, and he glanced around the woods again. "Bones and Uhura?"

Spock hesitated, some of that gnawing worry flaring up again. "I do not know."

Jim pushed himself to his feet, agitation making him pace. At least he did appear to be uninjured. "What the hell happened, Spock? Why didn't scans detect these people?"

"Based on the level of technology prevalent on this planet, I can only conclude that they possess some type of cloaking capabilities."

"Probably some jamming ones, too," Jim said with a scowl. "I'd tried contacting the _Enterprise_ before getting my ass handed to me, but couldn't get through."

"We have four hours, thirty-nine minutes until the check-in time," Spock calculated. "I suggest we attempt to locate Lt. Uhura and Dr. McCoy. Perhaps they have managed to contact the ship." And perhaps he and the captain would come across a search party on their way back to the city.

Though their uniforms were still damp, the warm temperature and direct sunlight would serve to dry their clothes as they walked, so after dousing the hot stones with water, they gathered up their few pieces of gear and set off to follow the river back to the city. They hadn't gone far before coming upon the alien that had fallen into the canal with Jim. Spock cautiously approached, tricorder out and scanning. There were no life readings. Spock crouched down and pressed two fingers to the man's neck. No pulse. He began to search through the items on his person. Jim bent down too, taking the phaser to arm himself with.

Spock reached into one of the man's pockets and pulled out a small, handheld device with three arms, or switches, sprouting from the center. Arching a curious brow, he took a scan with his tricorder.

"Captain, I believe this is a device to hide bio signals from detection." He passed it to Jim, and then lifted his tricorder to take a reading. "Fascinating," Spock commented. "I am no longer able to detect you with this scanner."

Jim studied it for a moment before palming it. "Well, then we might as well use it so whoever these guys are can't find us. What's its range?"

Spock studied his readings again. "Approximately 3.2 feet."

Jim nodded, and stood up. "Then stick close."

They resumed their trek through the woods, and made it back to the edge of the city. Everything was as still and quiet as when they'd first beamed down. Spock did a scan for human life signs, but none came up within the city. It was possible Nyota and McCoy were back on the _Enterprise_ , or had come across a section that was shielded.

"They've been taken," Jim spoke up.

"We cannot confirm that," Spock countered.

"Yeah, we can." Jim pointed to a patch of earth across from them. Spock narrowed his gaze on the six sets of footprints in the dirt, all marching away from the city. Two of them were Starfleet issue boots.

He was suddenly filled with a surge of indignation and determination. They would find and rescue Nyota and Dr. McCoy.

Jim started off, following the trail. It was not something the two of them even had to discuss or mention, both in complete sync and agreement.

The entities that had taken Nyota and McCoy made no effort to conceal their tracks. Perhaps they relied too much upon their technology to hide them. Though, Spock would likely not have spotted those footprints as quickly as Jim had. Eventually, he would have, but right now time was critical, and Spock did not want to leave Nyota in the hands of these strange people for longer than necessary.

Now that Spock knew to look for a trail, however, he was able to spot the slightly broken sprigs on branches and leaves that looked as though they'd been crushed in a hand and yanked in passing. _Nyota_.

Thirty-five minutes later, Spock and Jim ducked down behind some shrubs to survey the compound before them. Spock scanned the edges of the building for blinking lights or apparatuses that might be a security system, but the place seemed as quiet and non-operational as the city. He double-checked his tricorder, which was only able to take a superficial reading at this distance.

"Captain, with the devices these people possess, there is no way to determine how many may be inside."

Jim nodded, then turned to give Spock a confident grin as he held up the life sign jamming device they'd taken off the deceased hunchback. "And they won't be able to see us coming, either."

Spock tightened his grip on his phaser pistol. Indeed.

* * *

Nyota paced in her cell. It had been a while since Selmar left with McCoy, and she hadn't seen or heard from anyone since. What did they want? Why did Selmar want to speak with a "fellow doctor"? Where were Kirk and Spock?

…Was Spock all right?

Nyota hated waiting, hated inaction. She trusted Spock and Kirk, but they were just as likely to be in trouble as she was. In fact, knowing them, their rescue attempt would turn into needing to be rescued themselves. Nyota pivoted sharply and went to the cell door, gripping the bars tightly and giving them a slight shake. She'd already tested for structural weaknesses, of course, and found none, but vexation was wearing on her nerves.

She stiffened as footsteps echoed down the corridor, and stepped back when Selmar and three of his guards returned.

"Where is Dr. McCoy?" she demanded.

Selmar didn't respond, just nodded to his henchmen, one of whom moved forward to unlock the cell. Nyota tensed to fight, but the other two held their phaser rifles on her as the first came in to seize her. Fighting back wouldn't get her anything at this moment; she needed to wait for an opening.

She tried to shrug off the thug's grip as she was led down the passage and deeper into the cliff. The rooms were dark, but lights automatically flickered on when they finally entered one chamber that looked like a small transporter room. There was a circular platform big enough for one person to stand on in the center, and a computer terminal facing it. Nyota swept her gaze around, every muscle coiled with wariness.

"You are a very beautiful creature," Selmar finally spoke up.

Nyota narrowed her eyes. Flattery at this stage was never a good sign.

"One who also possesses sharp intelligence and linguistic ability," he went on.

Nyota frowned. How did Selmar know about her talent with languages? "What is it you want?"

Selmar canted his head ruminatively, and then gestured to himself. "A new host, for starters," he wheezed. "This one is wearing a bit thin, even with modifications."

Nyota instinctively recoiled a fraction. A host? Then, he was a parasitic entity?

Selmar's eyes crinkled with amusement. "Unfortunately, your genetic makeup is not compatible with ours. I am hoping to find a different species among your crew as soon as Dr. McCoy gives me more information on them."

Nyota scoffed. "That is not going to happen."

Selmar gave her a simpering look she did not like at all. He did know about her linguistic talents… Oh god, what had he done to McCoy?

"In the meantime," Selmar continued. "I would like to dissect your DNA and see if I can't isolate those desirable traits I mentioned. If there is no perfect species aboard your ship, I'll have to attempt genetic splicing again to make new hosts for my brethren." He flicked a look at his minions, all malformed in some way, and Nyota felt a pit carving out her stomach. Were these products of Selmar's genetic manipulation? To, what, create a compatible host?

"Don't worry," Selmar said. "I have no intention of doing you any harm. You are of the prime age for childbearing, and I might have need of your womb."

Nyota's blood ran cold. Oh, definitely _not_.

The guards came forward and grabbed her arms, attempting to push her toward the platform, which was now lighting up as Selmar tapped away at the control panel.

Okay, screw waiting for an opening; she was just going to make one.

Nyota twisted around and rammed her knee up into one thug's groin. He doubled over with a high-pitched gasp. The second guard tried to wrap both arms around her in a bear hug, and she threw her head back into his nose. Something crunched, and he released her.

Nyota grabbed the phaser rifle strapped across the first guy's shoulder, and used it to flip him onto his back. Then she shot the third guard as he came barreling toward her. His body flew past and landed with a thud. Selmar was shouting—or sputtering, really—and Nyota aimed the phaser at him and fired. The energy bolt struck the console and exploded, throwing Selmar to the floor. Nyota pivoted and kicked the other guard in the face, knocking him out.

Then she yanked the shoulder strap off the first guard, tucked the phaser close to her body, and bolted out the door. She had no idea where she was in this huge facility, but it wasn't crawling with these creeps, so she had a chance. Because there was no way in hell she was gonna let them use her as breeding stock.


	3. Chapter 3

The compound was not well guarded. That, and its general state of emptiness and disarray led Jim to believe that they weren't dealing with a large contingent of natives, but more like a remnant group that had survived…whatever had happened to leave whole cities completely vacant like that. Jim might have felt sympathy for them, but not while members of his crew were being held captive.

"Any sign of them, Spock?" he whispered.

"I'm afraid the complex is too large, Captain," the Vulcan replied. "All I can say for sure is that Lt. Uhura and Dr. McCoy are not in the immediate vicinity."

"Right." Jim kept his eyes peeled as they slowly made their way further into the compound. It had looked huge from the outside, with multiple levels rising up the side of the escarpment, but it also delved deeply into the rock with numerous corridors and chambers. Jim had even found a chute that headed down into a subterranean level.

They came across a lift, but opted not to use it in case the motion gave away their presence. Spock found a service hatch instead, and they used it to climb up to the next level. Unfortunately, they still weren't getting any bio sign readings.

"It's possible the jamming device is wired to this facility," Spock postulated.

"Yeah, maybe," Jim murmured. It would be a poor strategic set-up, not being able to detect if there were any intruders in your base. And why use signal cloaking devices if they weren't trying to stay hidden from something? No, more likely they were sequestered somewhere in this labyrinth.

He and Spock continued to navigate the darkened passages interspersed with shards of muted daylight streaming through oxidized windows in the sections that jutted out from the cliff face. The hallway curved, leading them back into the rock and to a set of large double doors. Jim glanced at Spock, who gave a subtle head shake; readings still weren't picking up anything.

Tightening his grip on his stolen weapon, Jim approached the doors and tapped the panel on the wall right beside them. They slid open slowly, as though they hadn't been used in a good long while. Which wasn't promising, but Jim figured they should take a look around anyway.

Light fixtures on the walls flickered as he entered, probably motion sensitive. They cast a pale blue glow over what seemed to be a large storage chamber. Jim pulled up short as his eyes adjusted and he found himself staring at a body floating in some kind of linden green fluid inside a glass cylinder. Three feet away was another, and another. The room was full of rows and rows of cylinders containing bodies suspended in some kind of liquid compound. It looked like…it looked like those old high school biology labs with specimens kept in jars of formaldehyde.

"What the hell is this place?" Jim uttered, trying to tamp down his horror. Some of the bodies had a bunch of tubes sticking out of ports in their flesh, though the lines weren't connected to anything. Maybe they had been when the person had been alive.

Spock ran his gaze over the cylinders, then turned and walked toward a computer terminal. After a few taps, the panel lit up and a series of progressing bars showed the computer was booting up. The Vulcan then proceeded to tap away and swipe at the keys, while Jim stood guard and waited, poised on pins and needles. He was definitely getting weirded out by this place, and wanted to find Bones and Uhura _now_.

"I cannot seem to find any records related to mass cadaver storage," Spock spoke up after a few minutes. "However, there appears to be a link to an archive." He tapped an icon, and the screen filled with a staticky image of a man dressed in a white suit. The top buttons were undone, and his hair was askew. That, coupled with the disarray of the stations in the background, suggested he was under a lot of stress.

" _The pandemic has wiped out two-thirds of the planet,_ " he reported wearily. There was a faint echo as the log was translated. " _Our infrastructure has collapsed. We are unable to continue the fight against the parasitic aliens that have been snatching bodies since their ship crashed here seven months ago._ "

Jim's brows shot upward. Body snatching aliens?

The man leaned his forearms on the control panel to support himself. " _We do not know if the disease was germ warfare, though I doubt it. These symbiotes, as they first introduced themselves, are in dire need of new bodies, as something in our atmosphere was apparently toxic to their original ones. But our—_ " he paused to take a breath, " _—genetic makeup isn't compatible, either. A few leading scientists offered to help, but we haven't heard from them since the disease broke out._ "

He stopped for a long moment, eyes dropping to the side, defeat evident in his posture and every line of his face. When he looked at the visual recorder again, his expression was grim. " _Anyone could be a host at this point._ "

With that, he flicked the recording off.

"That does not sound good," Jim commented. Really not good. "What are the odds we're dealing with survivors of this invasion, or the invaders themselves?"

Spock's brow furrowed just a fraction, enough to show that he was also disturbed by their findings. "Some symbiotic life forms can live for many hundreds of years. Given the inhabitants' inability to fight back against this enemy, the logical conclusion is that only the symbiotes have remained over the decades since the city fell."

"Yeah, that's what I was afraid of." Jim turned to sweep his gaze over the cylinders again. "And what's with the side show?"

"I am not sure," Spock replied. "But I would like to find Nyota as quickly as possible."

Jim nodded his agreement. His chest tightened with fear over what might have happened to her and Bones. If only he and Spock had the ability to detect their life signs.

Spock's tricorder beeped. Jim glanced at it, hanging at the commander's hip, and then at Spock in bewilderment. Spock blinked in equal surprise, and quickly grabbed the tricorder so he could see the reading.

"One humanoid life form, moving along a corridor perpendicular to our current location." He shifted slightly, and then pointed back out the doors they'd come in. "We can intercept it."

Jim noted that Spock didn't jump to the conclusion that it was Uhura or Bones, though Jim would place money on it. Granted, one of the hostile aliens could have forgotten his jamming device. And…why was it just _one_ life sign?

Jim may have hoped, but he wasn't going in blind. With the phaser rifle raised, he moved swiftly alongside Spock as the Vulcan focused on tracking the signal and directing their path to intercept it.

Footsteps pattered softly around the next corner, and Jim tensed. He stopped and took aim, waiting. Spock lowered the tricorder and drew his phaser as well. There was a split moment when the darkened figure carrying a phaser rifle stepped into view that Jim's heart jolted with anticipation and a surge of adrenaline, but then he was jerking his weapon down as Uhura pulled up short and gaped at them.

"Spock!" She started forward, but the commander raised his phaser. Uhura stopped abruptly. "Spock, what—"

"We must make certain she was not made a host," Spock said to Jim, not taking his eyes off his girlfriend. Talk about awkward reunions, but dammit, Spock had a point.

Jim raised his phaser again, throwing her an apologetic look. "Please tell me your scanner would detect something like that."

Uhura glanced between them. "How'd you know about the symbiotes?"

"We came across a log by one of the original inhabitants," Spock replied as he held the tricorder up, sounding completely casual despite practically accusing Uhura of being an imposter.

"The leader's name is Selmar," she said in return, apparently not bothered by it, either. Sometimes Jim just had to roll his eyes at those two. "He said humans aren't compatible with his kind. He's interested in the _Enterprise_ and finding a new host from a different species. But he's also psychotic, obsessed with genetic splicing and manipulation. I managed to escape before he could start experimenting on me."

A muscle in her jaw ticked, and Jim thought she was telling the truth. Still, he waited for confirmation from Spock. After another moment, the commander finally lowered his tricorder.

"I am not detecting the presence of a foreign body or chemical imbalance that would suggest the intrusion of a symbiote." He strode forward and took Uhura by the arms. "Were you harmed?" he asked, the barest undercurrent of worry and violence seeping through his tone.

Uhura shook her head. "I'm fine."

"What about Bones?" Jim asked.

Uhura flicked a regretful look his way. "I don't know. I've been staying on the move, but this place is massive and I haven't found him yet." She hesitated. "I do know Selmar is trying to extract information from him."

Jim gritted his teeth. He was going to make this Selmar pay for hurting his crew. "Can you lead us back to where you were first taken? They've got to keep their operations at least somewhat concentrated in one area, don't you think?" he asked, glancing between Uhura and Spock.

"That would be logical, but we cannot assume these beings are following such principles," Spock responded.

A shout issued from down the passage Uhura had come, and Spock yanked her out of the way as a phaser bolt zinged past and struck the wall instead. Jim ducked down and pressed himself to the edge of the juncture before returning fire. He had thought their signals were being hidden…but Uhura's hadn't, not before she'd joined up with them, and of course the aliens had to be tracking her after she escaped.

Jim peeked around the corner and fired off a few bursts again. He hit one, but the other two had lumbered their way too close. There was the guy with the milky eye and tumorous face again, whose nostrils flared when he spotted Kirk. Then he was charging forward like a bull, and Jim braced himself as he was rammed to the ground. He kept a hold of the phaser rifle, though, and cold-cocked the guy in the side of the head. He went down easily.

Jim scrambled to his feet in time to see the third guard, a guy with a pinto array of skin colors, sink to the floor from a Vulcan nerve pinch. Glad it worked on someone.

"Spock, the other signal jammers," Jim said, and bent down to rifle through White-Eye's pockets. He found the same device they'd gotten off the guy at the river, and Jim tossed it to Uhura. Spock grabbed the one that belonged to the other alien. "Now we're all off the grid to them."

Uhura eyed the piece for a second before lifting a staunch chin. "I can try to find the way back to the lab where Selmar took me. McCoy has to be somewhere near there."

Jim nodded. "Good. If we can get close, then Spock should be able to detect Bones like we did with you."

Uhura retrieved a phaser rifle and lifted it to brace against her shoulder. "Let's go."

* * *

McCoy shuddered as another image was ripped from his mind and projected onto the nearby monitor. Selmar had left a while ago, but two of his lackeys had remained behind to continue the invasive and violating interrogation. No matter how hard McCoy fought, he couldn't stop that screen from playing out some memory or other and betraying every confidence he had ever held as a doctor, as a Starfleet officer, as a friend. He could taste copper on his upper lip from what he suspected was a nose bleed, and his head was pounding with the worst migraine ever. He longed to pass out, but whenever he seemed close to falling into oblivion, the device would flash to life, wrenching him back to full consciousness. Each moment bled into the next, one question after another. McCoy gritted his teeth and continued to futilely try to resist.

The doors swished open and Selmar stormed in. He had superficial burns and ash down one side of his face, and his eyes were blazing with fury. He marched forward to loom over McCoy.

"Someone accessed a computer hub in the lower level and then took out my men. And that was before your Lieutenant Uhura's signal disappeared from our sensors, concealed by one of _our_ devices. I can only conclude that your captain has found his way here."

McCoy instantly thought of Jim, but it was like an icepick through his brain. The monitor flashed with an array of jerky images too quick to see many details, save for a few glimpses of Jim wearing goggles and riding a motorcycle through a battlefield of phaser fire as his crew scurried to a platform to be beamed out.

"I see why you have faith in him," Selmar said, watching the feed. "Now, how do I find him?"

"Just wait," McCoy grunted. "He'll find you." At least it sounded as though Jim, and likely Spock, had rescued Uhura. That was good.

Selmar's oxygen port hissed with a sharp intake of breath. He whirled toward his henchmen. "Run back the recordings."

McCoy couldn't hold back a moan as the information he'd betrayed was played again. The recording of his own voice and those of his friends were muddled, exhaustion and pain tugging insistently at him. But still, he was not granted a respite.

He heard the echo of words spoken over a year ago filter through his fuzzy brain. _"You gave your girlfriend a tracking device?"_

Selmar straightened his shoulders, a sinister smile creeping across his face. McCoy had given that up, too. How had something that seemed so innocuous and innocent been torn from his head? Well, it wasn't so harmless now, was it? No, now it would be used against his friends. Leonard wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

Selmar glanced at McCoy one more time before gesturing for his men to follow him out. They'd be going after Uhura now, and presumably Jim and Spock were with her. McCoy hoped they were, Though, he also hoped they weren't, because he didn't want to see them caught and subjected to similar torment.

It took McCoy a moment to realize that the screen had been left on suspend, and he finally had a merciful break from the relentless onslaught of images. As long as he didn't think of something from the past.

Of course, as soon as he thought that, lightning exploded through his head as an image of his ex-wife was projected. McCoy cut off his thoughts there and blinked furiously to focus on the restraints keeping him in the chair. If he could just get free…

He rotated his left wrist in the metal cuff to a specific angle, and then jerked with as much force as he could muster. His thumb dislocated with a pop, and McCoy bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep back a noise of pain. Carefully, he wiggled his hand out from the restraint and reached over to undo the other. His fingers fumbled over the clasp without the use of his thumb, but he eventually got it open, and with another surge of energy, pushed himself out of that wretched chair.

McCoy instantly swayed, vision going black for a second, and he stumbled into a counter to catch himself. _Just breathe_ , he ordered. _You can't let Jim down again_.

His head still felt like needles were being jabbed into it, and his hand was on fire. Slapping his palm on the table top, McCoy quickly popped his thumb back into place. That hurt like a bitch, too, but the pain in his head did a good job of nearly drowning it out. He lifted his other hand to brush across his nose, and stared dismally at the smear of blood. Even in its muddled state, his mind helpfully supplied a list of possible causes for internal hemorrhaging like this, which he had to shove down and ignore. Nothing to be done about it now. The most important thing was getting help. Which meant contacting the _Enterprise_ and warning them about Selmar.

McCoy staggered toward the main console under the window, and blinked at the controls. The edges of his vision were coated in darkness, making it difficult to concentrate. He punched a few buttons experimentally until he found what looked like a broadcast channel. He actually had no idea how to boost the signal or make sure it got where it needed to. That was Uhura's thing. But McCoy felt himself fading fast, and he had to at least try.

He typed out a message as quickly as he could, in case Selmar or his guards came back. Then he sent it, and just had to hope that it got through, that Sulu would know how to protect against this kind of threat, that Scotty might be able to find a way to beam them out. That he might thwart Selmar's plans before the maniac made McCoy the downfall of his crew and family.

Leonard slid to the floor, darkness encroaching further across his vision. He never even felt the cold tile when he collapsed.

* * *

Nyota tried to recall which corridors she'd come down when escaping Selmar's men, but in the dim lighting they all looked pretty much the same. She'd found what appeared to be more laboratories, though not the one Selmar had taken her to. There was also a ward with several incubators lined around the walls next to machines, and Nyota couldn't suppress a shudder at the image of them being occupied with infants at one point.

Kirk kept glancing at Spock, who kept glancing at his scanner, but so far they hadn't gotten a signal to indicate where McCoy was being held. Apprehension coiled around Nyota's insides and squeezed the longer they wandered this labyrinthine complex.

She finally recognized a plaque hanging on one wall, and pointed left. They were getting closer now. Just three more turns, she figured…

As Nyota crossed a junction in the corridor, Selmar stepped out from around the corner and seized her wrist, twisting her arm behind her back. She dropped the phaser rifle. In one quick motion, he tugged her back against him, one arm across her chest, and pressed the barrel of a phaser pistol into her side. Two of his guards swarmed out at the same time, weapons raised at Kirk and Spock, who had their phasers level and trained on them as well.

"Stand down, gentlemen," Selmar said.

"Let her go," Kirk responded, shifting his aim between Selmar and one of his thugs.

"Captain Kirk, it is a pleasure to finally meet you face to face. I've heard a lot about you."

"Then you should know I don't respond well to threats against my crew," Kirk rejoined.

"Hm." Selmar's breath puffed against the back of Nyota's neck, and he shifted slightly toward Spock. "I know how much this female means to you. I actually must thank you for the delightful trinket that proved to be an easy signal to trace."

Nyota frowned. What was Selmar talking about?

Spock's face had gone blank, not strategically schooled or calmly serene, but nonplussed in a way that Nyota recognized as surprise and confusion, though to anyone else it probably came across as unfazed.

"Not even a reaction," Selmar said, sounding impressed. "But I know from Dr. McCoy that it is just a front." He dug the pistol into Nyota's side a little harder, making her wince. "I will spare the female if you agree to be my new host."

Nyota's breath stole from her lungs. _No_.

"Don't even think about it, Spock," Kirk said.

Spock didn't respond. He didn't even meet Nyota's gaze, but kept his attention rigidly fixed on Selmar's face.

"Just shoot the bastard, Kirk," Nyota snapped.

A muscle in the captain's jaw ticked, and he shifted his phaser's aim once more, but didn't fire. He wouldn't, not as long as Nyota was being used as a body shield.

"He won't risk hurting a potential incubator for future genetic experiments," she threw out.

Kirk's eyes widened in horror, and Spock gave an almost imperceptible flinch, except Nyota knew how to read him well.

"Normally, no, I wouldn't," Selmar said. "But there are plenty of females aboard your ship to choose from."

Nyota clenched her fists, and hoped Kirk got angry enough to make a move. She was tired of this standoff.

The device on Selmar's wrist started beeping and flashing with a yellow light. Nyota felt his arm across her chest loosen just a fraction so he could glance at the alarm, but it was enough. She threw her head back into his face, then stomped as hard as she could on his foot. Selmar grunted and staggered, raising his pistol to fire. Nyota dove out of the way. Phaser fire erupted between the other two guards and Kirk and Spock.

Nyota scrambled away, ducking down to avoid getting shot as sizzling bolts flew back and forth across the corridor. But Selmar's lackeys went down quickly. Nyota whipped her gaze around, and was both stunned and infuriated to find that Selmar had escaped during the skirmish. The coward.

"Dammit," Kirk cursed. "Where's he headed?"

"We cannot track him as long as he carries a signal concealing device," Spock said.

Nyota went to a nearby control panel and tapped the screen. Half of it remained dark as it lit up, but she worked a few of the keys until she found what she wanted. "The alert Selmar got was of a communications beacon being sent out." Her brows shot upward, and she whirled back around. "A distress call to the _Enterprise_."

Jim's eyes widened. "Bones."

Before he even asked, Nyota was tracing the source of that signal. "I found him."

They just had to hope Selmar wasn't heading to the same place, or that they got there first.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Jim stormed through the corridors with single-minded purpose. They'd only had to go up one level before Spock's tricorder had picked up a humanoid life form. Of course, the Vulcan wouldn't say whether it was McCoy or not, but Jim knew it was. They followed the signal to a set of doors and burst through them into some kind of science lab. Jim's gaze immediately snapped to Bones lying on the floor, but he did a quick sweep of the otherwise empty room before rushing over.

Dropping down next to McCoy, Jim gripped his shoulder and rolled him onto his back. Bones didn't stir, eyes closed. Jim's heart dropped into his stomach at the sight of partially dried blood streaming from McCoy's nose. There was even a small rivulet leaking from one eye.

"Oh god," Uhura breathed.

"Can you contact the ship?" Jim asked, voice tight with worry.

Uhura nodded and went to the control panel.

Jim frowned at a slim metal disc stuck to McCoy's temple, a single light blinking yellow. He looked around the room, trying to gauge what may have gone on in here, but he had no clue save for the exam chair with metal restraints and the bruising on McCoy's left hand.

Bones let out a low moan.

Jim tightened his grip on McCoy's shoulder. "Bones?"

"Ungh, J'm?" he mumbled, eyelids fluttering sluggishly.

Kirk flashed his best boyish smile. "What are you doing, Bones? It's my job to get into the fights, remember?" He waited for the customary scowl and southern swearing to assure him that McCoy was alright, despite his appearances, but before the doctor could respond, that disc on the side of his head flashed green and Bones let out a choked cry.

Movement flickered to his left, and Jim whipped his head up as a virtual screen came to life. For a moment, he didn't understand what he was seeing—himself, on a bio bed and looking like he'd gone three rounds with a Gorn…and wait a second, that _was_ after he'd been pitted against a Gorn and come back a little worse for wear. What the hell?

A spasm ripped through McCoy, and he squeezed his eyes shut as though in pain.

"Turn that monitor off!" Jim ordered. "Bones? Bones!"

Spock moved swiftly to the console closest to the screen, and after a few taps, it flicked off. McCoy went limp, the little blinking light on that disc turning yellow again.

Jim fought down a surge of panic. "Spock, what the hell is that thing?"

Spock crouched down next to him and whipped out his tricorder to scan the device. "It appears to be a type of neural transmitter."

"Get it off."

Spock studied his readings a moment longer, and after brief consideration, reached for the small disc and rotated it counter clockwise. The light winked out with a beep, and Spock then pried the device off. It left a minuscule puncture mark in McCoy's temple.

Jim took his friend's face in his hands. "Bones, can you hear me?" There was no response. They needed to get him back to the ship, ASAP.

"Captain," Uhura spoke up from the other computer station. "I'm picking up a group of life signs outside the city. It's probably a security team from the _Enterprise_."

Jim mentally cursed; they didn't have their communicators to contact them. "Can you reach the ship?"

"I can try."

"Captain," Spock interjected. "If Selmar also detects the presence of the security team, he may attempt to escape by switching hosts. If he manages to beam aboard the ship, it would be incredibly difficult to isolate him."

"Especially if he keeps jumping bodies," Jim finished, horror morphing into steely resolve. No way was he going to allow that to happen.

After casting one last worried look at Bones, Jim forced himself to stand. "Stay with McCoy," he told Uhura. "If you can contact the ship and get a beam out, do it, but tell Scotty no one else. Spock, you're with me."

"Be careful," Uhura said, and though she probably meant it for both of them, her gaze stayed fixed on Spock's. The commander spared her a return look of promise before he turned to follow Jim.

"Any ideas on how we can find this guy?" Jim asked as they strode through the corridor.

"Not at this time," Spock replied. "I suggest we reach the _Enterprise's_ security team first."

They quickened their pace, using the lift this time to make it down to the ground level. Jim made his way toward the first door he spotted, which opened in the direction they needed to go to reach the city. The security team would investigate there first before exploring the surrounding area…unless they were able to detect humanoid life signs. Jim belatedly thought of the device in his pocket, and quickly dug it out to toss aside. Stealth was no longer needed here, anyway.

He was actually surprised when they caught up to Selmar, though Jim supposed he shouldn't have been. The guy was pretty infirm, and was hobbling his way through the brush at a faltering speed.

Selmar whirled at the sound of snapping branches behind him. His face was flushed and cheeks were puffing from exertion. Jim could hear the oxygen port wheezing and clicking even from several feet away. Selmar didn't appear to be armed, but Kirk still raised his weapon on the guy.

"That's far enough, Selmar," he called. Jim really wanted to just shoot the man for what he did to Bones, but Kirk had a certain moral high ground to uphold as a Starfleet captain. Not that anyone would ever know if Spock helped him dump the body in the river… Selmar _had_ threatened Uhura, after all.

The alien glared at them venomously, and Jim braced himself for some kind of retaliatory move. But Selmar suddenly went rigid, his eyes rolling up in the back of his head, and he dropped. What the…

The ferns near the body started thrashing as though something were skittering beneath them. Shit, that better not be what Jim thought it was. He took aim and fired his phaser, but the thing banked sharply. Jim tried to trace its movement to get a clear shot, but he couldn't actually spot it underneath all the foliage, and it was moving too fast.

"Um, Spock?"

Spock's eyes were narrowed as he also tried to keep the creature's path in sight, phaser raised at the ready. Something made a chittering sound as it veered this way and that, circling around them. Jim spun and started shooting wildly into the brush. Twigs exploded and the acrid odor of singed wood filled the air, along with tendrils of smoke. And then everything fell still. Had he hit it?

Jim waited, but nothing else happened. He finally allowed himself to let out a breath of relief, and lowered the phaser. He turned to smile at Spock, when a high-pitched shriek split the air. Jim wrenched back around just as a snake-like creature flew up from the forest floor and shot straight for him, fanged maw gaping wide.

A phaser bolt zinged through the air and struck the worm mid-flight, blasting it into smithereens. Hot orange goop splattered across Jim's neck and face. Blood roared in his ears as he stared at brown chunks scattered on the ground, and he slowly lifted his eyes back to Spock's. The Vulcan gazed dispassionately at the remains of Selmar, and holstered his phaser pistol.

"Thanks," Jim said.

Spock inclined his head.

There was a cacophony of snapping branches, and Jim spun around with his weapon, expecting more snakes to be swarming through the wood, but instead he spotted a bunch of familiar yellow shirts converging on them.

"Captain," Sulu said, alert gaze taking in the body of Selmar's host and quickly sweeping the area. "Are you alright?"

Jim nodded, lowering his weapon. "We are now. You missed the party, Mr. Sulu."

"I can see that." The lieutenant glanced at the body again. Jim assumed that without the symbiote, it was probably dead, but they should check.

"Let's clean this up and go home, Mr. Spock," Jim said wearily.

* * *

Upon Spock's recommendation, neither he, the captain, nor the security team would beam back to the ship until Lt. Commander Scott was able to set up a method to scan for symbiotes. Nyota and McCoy had been transported already, but they could be kept quarantined in Sickbay until the scanner specifications were set.

Spock took half the security team back to the compound to apprehend the remaining aliens. Without their signal concealment devices, they were easy to find. Also easy because they had not moved from where he and the captain had knocked them out. Only two were still alive. The rest appeared to have succumbed to their injuries from the brief scuffles, which would have been minor to anyone else, but with their compromised immune systems, proved fatal. Selmar's host had also expired after the symbiote had vacated the body.

Spock took detailed scans of the life forms and assisted Mr. Scott in the calculations. Once the calibrations were complete, they were then beamed back to the ship. The two symbiotes who had survived were taken into custody and would be remanded to the nearest Federation Starbase to be put on trial for acts of planetary genocide. If they lived that long.

Even as prisoners, they should be given medical attention, but the ship's CMO was in no condition to provide it after the treatment McCoy had received at their hands. After seeing to their containment and ensuring the strictest security measures, Spock headed to Sickbay.

He found the captain already there, sitting by Dr. McCoy's bedside. Jim had yet to change his soiled uniform, though he'd attempted to wipe the ichor from his face, leaving only a few trace smears. McCoy, on the other hand, had been cleaned of the crimson blood, and now his face was starkly pale in unconsciousness. Spock studied the bio readings on the monitor above the bed, brow pinching slightly as he found them less than encouraging.

"Dr. M'Benga's reviewing the scans," Jim spoke up, looking over at Spock. "Uhura was declared fit for duty. I think she went to go get cleaned up and change." He hesitated. "Some things you just need to get off your skin."

Spock thought he understood, given the implications Selmar, and Nyota, had made about the scientist's planned uses for her. He felt the urge to track her down and wrap her in his arms protectively. It was a curious sentiment, one that was impractical and yet was felt so fervently, as though it would put him at ease more than it would her. But he did not move.

"Spock?" Jim prompted.

He should leave. Feelings were not meant to be discussed so openly and certainly not at this time. Though…now was when such emotions were stirring so strongly. And Jim had never belittled Spock for embracing them. Indeed, he was always caught off guard at how the captain seemed to just know that Spock was wrestling with something internally.

"When Selmar revealed that it was Dr. McCoy from whom he received information about us," Spock began. "What went through your mind in that moment?"

Jim's gaze dropped back to the unconscious figure in the bed, and it was a prolonged beat before he responded. "That Bones is one stubborn son-of-a-bitch. …And it scared me how much it might have taken to break him." He looked at Spock again, expectant, patient. "And you?"

Spock took a moment to consider it seriously, to try to put into coherent words what he had thought—felt. "Selmar knew about the necklace and was able to track Nyota through it. Such an intimate piece of knowledge shared between friends…I found myself in that moment experiencing an irrational sense of hurt."

Jim's mouth quirked in sympathy. "That's not irrational, Spock. It's human."

"You did not doubt Dr. McCoy," he pointed out. "And it was irrational, since he did not, in fact, betray us."

Based on everything Spock knew about Dr. McCoy, the logical conclusion would of course have been that Leonard would not have divulged anything to his captors, even under the most extreme duress. The neural transmitter was an outside factor beyond the doctor's ability to resist. That should have been Spock's first deduction, not a correction of facts afterward.

"You can't beat yourself up over it," Jim said. He smiled sadly and looked back at McCoy. "Bones is gonna be doing the same thing when he wakes up."

Spock couldn't help but flick a glance at the monitor and note that it was more of an "if" than a "when" at the moment. But the captain was correct; regret served no purpose. Spock had found his logic unsound, and would adjust his thinking from this point forward.

"I will assume command responsibilities so you can remain here," he offered.

This time Jim gave him a more genuine smile. "I already gave Sulu command until we reach the Starbase. Go find Uhura, Spock."

He hesitated, though there was little use for him here. And he did want to see Nyota and confirm that she was truly well and unscathed. Not just in body, but mind as well. He would return, though, and assume a dutiful watch over his friend.

Spock left Sickbay and headed toward Nyota's quarters. He spotted her in the corridor halfway there, striding his way. When their gazes met, Nyota quickened her pace until she was nearly running to reach him. But she stopped just a few feet from him, and everything in her posture was suddenly holding back, though she nipped at her bottom lip as though reluctant. Her eyes flicked to the crewmen milling about. Ah.

Spock slipped an arm behind her back and tugged her forward, dipping his head to seal her lips with a kiss. She froze for a split second before ardently returning the embrace. Then she abruptly pulled away with a gasp.

"Spock, what are you doing?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"I wish to express my relief and gratitude that you were not harmed," he replied. And he found that he did not care if it was a public display of affection, which they had agreed never to engage in.

Nyota huffed. "And I'm glad you didn't agree to be that bastard's host. Because I would have kicked your ass."

Spock frowned. He was almost certain there was fondness in her tone, despite the promise of violence. It amazed him how she could pack so much paradoxical emotion into one statement. "I would not have risked the _Enterprise_ in such a manner," he said, then added, "Nor would I have let him harm you."

Though, once again it seemed Nyota didn't actually _need_ him to rescue her, as she handled herself against Selmar quite admirably.

"Are you all right, though?" he pressed. "What Selmar intended for you…"

Her expression softened, and she slipped her hand in his, intertwining their fingers. "I'm fine, Spock, really." She canted her head. "I would have liked to punch his face a few times, but he didn't get a chance to do any of the things he threatened."

Spock's mouth turned down. "Still, threats themselves can cause their own kind of mental injury."

"Sometimes," she acceded. "But he's dead and no longer able to carry them out." Worry darkened her eyes. "How's McCoy?"

"I do not know, though from what I could tell, it appears quite serious."

Nyota nodded soberly. "I downloaded everything I could find about that neural device before we were beamed out. Maybe you should take a look."

Spock arched a brow. "Indeed." Understanding the device might help them determine what type of damage had been done, and potentially how to reverse it. "Perhaps I should begin immediately."

Nyota gave him a small smile of encouragement, and squeezed his hand. "Oh, and when you're done, we're going to talk about that 'tracking device.'"

Spock hesitated. Ah, that. He'd failed to bring up the necklace's unintentional, ulterior function after Altamid, though he could not quite say why.

"It is not…what it sounds like," he said.

"Mhm-hmm." Nyota crossed her arms. "Like I said, we'll talk about it later. Go help McCoy."

Spock inclined his head in deference, as Dr. McCoy was the more urgent need at the moment. Besides, Spock was suddenly finding himself far from eager to have that conversation…

* * *

Jim stood with his arms folded tightly across his abdomen as he listened to Dr. M'Benga deliver his prognosis.

"There's significant inflammation and swelling in the temporal lobe. We've put Dr. McCoy in an induced coma, which will hopefully relieve the swelling. Until it goes down, however, I'm afraid I can't give much of a prognosis." Dr. M'Benga gave his captain an apologetic look.

Jim nodded. "Thanks." He glanced over his shoulder at McCoy's bed and the bio readings that had leveled out. "I'm gonna go get cleaned up," he told M'Benga. "Call me if _anything_ changes."

"Of course, sir," M'Benga assured him. "But I wouldn't worry, Captain. Leonard is stable. It's really just a waiting game at this point."

Yeah, Jim hated those. "Still, call me if something changes," he reiterated, and then headed to his quarters.

He chucked his gold uniform covered in worm gunk, and stepped into the sonic shower to get any remnants off his skin. Since he'd handed over command, he didn't bother putting on another captain's shirt, but simply changed into a plain black tee. Then he made a detoured stop at the mess for some food and a large cup of coffee before heading back to Sickbay. He was gonna need the caffeine to get through this "waiting game."

When he walked through Sickbay's doors, he found Spock sitting in the chair he'd occupied earlier, reading a PADD. "How's Uhura?" Jim asked.

Spock looked up. "She insists she is 'fine.'"

Jim arched a brow. "You don't believe her?"

"On the contrary; Nyota is quite strong and resilient."

Jim's lips twitched. He might have chosen different adjectives for that…like feisty and stubborn. "Still, I thought you'd be with her tonight."

"I am reviewing the data Nyota collected from Selmar's lab, particularly regarding the neural device used on Dr. McCoy," Spock replied. "And…she wishes to later discuss the Vulcan amulet I gave her."

Now both of Jim's brows shot upward. "Ohh, are you in trouble," he sing-songed.

Spock's forehead creased in perplexity. "I fail to see that I have done anything wrong."

Jim snorted. "Yeah, remind me to be on the other side of the ship when you two have that conversation." He set his coffee cup on a nearby tray and went to drag another chair over to the other side of McCoy's bed. Spock stared at him in confusion for a moment longer before returning his attention to his PADD. Jim picked up his mug again and took a sip, settling in for a long watch.


	5. Chapter 5

 

McCoy was heavy, like someone had siphoned out his bone marrow and replaced it with lead. Everything felt weighted down, and he wanted to drift back into the calm sea of oblivion, but a persistent sound kept buzzing in his ear.

"Bones, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me."

The voice seemed achingly familiar. McCoy had never really been able to turn down the owner of it. He'd followed the kid into space, after all. But what did Jim want? Oh, hand… Now that McCoy concentrated, he realized he wasn't just a congealed lump of sinew and bone, but that he had arms, and there was a warm pressure encasing his left palm. He tried to squeeze back.

"That's it," Jim encouraged. "Open your eyes."

That seemed an even more daunting task, but McCoy tried to obey. It felt like peeling paint off a bulkhead, and he immediately winced at the glaring brightness. Something about this situation seemed vaguely wrong, too. Usually he was the one calling Jim back from the brink of…whatever the hell was making him feel like he'd gone ten rounds with a gorn.

Wait, why did that sound familiar? There was something important McCoy needed to remember. He forced his eyes open and blinked blearily as Jim's face slowly coalesced to his left. The kid broke into a beaming smile.

"Hey. How are you feeling?"

Was that a trick question?

Questions… No, questions were bad. There had been lots of questions. About Jim, and Spock, and the _Enterprise_. McCoy squeezed his eyes shut. No, no, no. _Don't think. Don't think_. He couldn't let them take any more from him.

"Bones?" Jim called worriedly.

Was Kirk actually here? Or was McCoy's likely hemorrhaging brain conjuring a hallucination in his last moments? Maybe this was a memory being projected on the screen…although McCoy couldn't recall where it was from—and dammit, he was trying _not_ to think.

"Doc?" Jim queried, that tenor of concern still seeping through.

There was the whir of a medical tricorder. That was safe, McCoy could let his mind go there… _No_. He wrenched his thoughts away from the mechanisms and various settings that could potentially be used for harm by anyone with the know-how to manipulate it.

"I'm not detecting anything," someone else responded. "Leonard, are you in pain?"

Pain, yes, focus on the pain, not on identifying the doctor or revealing anything about him. McCoy held his breath, focusing on the way it made his head feel like it was splitting open. Maybe it was at this point. Maybe Selmar would just scoop out what he wanted that way.

"Bones, you're safe," Jim picked up. "You're back on the _Enterprise_."

He really wanted to believe that, but it could have been a projection, another memory torn from his head. And he couldn't risk opening his eyes and triggering more.

"If I may," a third voice spoke up on his other side, calm and level. A hand settled on his shoulder. "Leonard, you are no longer connected to the device. Your thoughts are your own."

That…that couldn't be a memory. Not if Spock was talking to him about current things. Hallucination was still a possibility, but McCoy slowly let out the breath he'd been holding, and decided to open his eyes again. Jim was in the same place, looking at him with tense concern. Dr. M'Benga stood behind him, tricorder in hand and expression professionally schooled as a doctor's should be. And on his right was Spock, gazing down at him with Vulcan neutrality. McCoy cautiously roved his gaze around the sickbay. The only monitor was the one above his head with his bio readings, not some invasive slideshow of past events.

"Jim," he rasped.

Kirk started to smile again. "Yeah. You gave us quite a scare there, Bones."

"Where's Selmar? And Uhura? The crew, did he hurt anyone?" McCoy started to push himself up, but Spock's hand was still on his shoulder and easily pressed him back down.

"Easy, Bones," Jim said. "Everyone's fine. And Selmar is dead."

McCoy stiffened. "Dead?" His first feeling was relief, and maybe a little satisfaction, but that was followed by horror at himself. He was a doctor; he wasn't supposed to revel in anyone's death, even a sick bastard like Selmar.

Jim nodded. "The symbiote and the host. We figured out his plan and stopped him before he could get near the ship or crew."

Then, McCoy hadn't caused the downfall of the _Enterprise_ or anyone's death at Selmar's machinations. But he had endangered them. God, did Jim even know what McCoy had done? He must have, if they knew about the neural device. Shame washed through him, and he barely heard M'Benga explaining the medical stats of McCoy's condition. He found he didn't quite care at the moment. Jim had saved them all once again, but it had been a close one. It usually was, but this time it had been McCoy's fault. He'd violated his oath to do no harm. Or, Selmar had violated it for him. But it made no difference, as the result was the same.

* * *

Spock read over Dr. M'Benga's report for the second time, perplexed at its contents. While the acting chief medical officer had cleared Dr. McCoy for duty three days ago, McCoy had overridden the overseeing physician's judgment and declared the opposite, that he was, in fact, unfit for the active roster. And according to M'Benga's report, Spock saw no reason for the negation.

However, he had not seen McCoy since the doctor had been released from Sickbay. Perhaps a complication had developed that Spock was unaware of. As First Officer, it was his duty to ensure the ship's CMO was well. But more than that, it concerned him that McCoy had apparently retreated into isolation. Normally Jim would be the one to corner the doctor and discover the nature of the problem and resolve it, but the captain had been busy with several follow-up reports to Starfleet about the incident. Thus, it fell to Spock to seek the doctor out.

He headed to McCoy's quarters where the logs showed the doctor had been spending most of his time. McCoy had barely ventured out to retrieve sustenance from the mess, which was also of concern. Spock hit the com button on the outside of the door. A moment later, it swished open to reveal Dr. McCoy, one hand bracing himself on the wall, the other holding a glass of amber liquid. His hair was disheveled and there were dark circles under his eyes.

"What do you want?" the doctor grumbled.

Spock arched a brow at the man. "You are inebriated."

"No, I'm drunk."

If Spock were prone to spontaneous external expressions, he might have sighed. "I do not believe this is an advised method of recuperation."

McCoy scowled. "Well, you're not a doctor, so shut up." He turned and staggered his way toward the couch.

Though it was not an open invitation to enter, neither was the door shut in his face, so Spock stepped inside. The door slid closed behind him, once again dousing the room in the low lighting McCoy had the controls set to. Spock roved his gaze around the haphazard condition of the space—bed a mess of tangled sheets, PADDS scattered across the desk and some on the floor…four empty glasses with faint brown residue in the bottoms sitting on a small center table.

"Doctor, your sobriety is necessary for your performance of duties," Spock pointed out.

McCoy grunted as he plopped on the couch, some of his drink sloshing over the rim of the glass. "I haven't been cleared."

Again, Spock lifted a dubious brow. Did the doctor not think that Spock read the reports? Or was he too intoxicated to remember things accurately? "Dr. M'Benga has provided a thorough examination and re-certified you."

"Dr. M'Benga is an idiot."

Spock found himself somewhat caught off guard. He knew for a fact that Dr. McCoy did not hold his colleague in such disregard. This show of hostility was both unfounded and uncharacteristic. "Doctor, I fail to see the logic in you depriving the _Enterprise_ of her CMO."

McCoy let out a derisive snort. "The logic, Mr. Spock, is that the _Enterprise_ is better off."

"That is an incongruent statement."

McCoy slammed his glass down on the table with a discordant clink. "Dammit, man, I'm compromised!"

Spock simply stared at him. "You are emotional. Something alcohol does not temper." Perhaps it would be better if Spock returned when McCoy was sober. Though, given the evidence, that would not be in the foreseeable future…

"You're damn right I'm emotional!" McCoy exclaimed. He shook his head in apparent disgust. "I'm probably the one person on this whole ship who knows the most about everyone. I'm their doctor! And that was used against you all. Against you and Jim. Don't you get it, Spock? I can't be trusted!"

Spock found himself utterly astounded. "Is that what you believe, Doctor?"

"Those are the facts, Spock," McCoy said bitterly. "Thought you'd appreciate them." He snatched up the glass again and drained its contents.

Spock thought he was beginning to see the problem. "I do. And I can tell you that you are mistaken, on several counts. Are you aware how the neural device is intended to function?"

McCoy shot him a dark glower. "Yes, Spock, I'm very aware of how it functions."

Spock ignored the venomous tone. "The device forms a link to neural pathways, extrapolating signals in the brain in order to project them onto a visual medium. I have studied the mechanisms, and it is meant to be a relatively smooth process."

McCoy rolled his eyes with a scowl. "What's your point?"

"That the experience nearly killed you. And it was not due to an incompatibility with your mind," he added before the doctor could provide that protest. "I have reviewed the logs of your time under the device. When Selmar asked you for codes, you gave him an image of the captain's personal vault."

McCoy's face twisted with repugnance. "I _know_ , Spock."

Spock could admit that, at times, Dr. McCoy was a brilliant man, but at others he was remarkably dense. "Leonard, the only thing of 'value' Jim keeps in that vault is saurian ale. When Selmar asked about the first officer, your mind produced an image of the necklace I gifted to Nyota."

"Which he used to track and capture you, I know." McCoy surged to his feet. "And I know you insist you don't feel anything, but I'd damn well hate me for that."

Spock did have to admit that when it came to Nyota's well-being, his normally careful measure of control and composure was greatly tested. But he would never blame someone for something beyond their control. And he would certainly never hold any ill feelings or thoughts toward a friend who had suffered such atrocities.

"Doctor, there are countless things you could have divulged to Selmar. Things that I confided to you about New Vulcan, details of my work that you were privy to. Instead, you gave Selmar the necklace."

McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm too drunk to follow you, Spock, because you seem to be making my point."

Oh, but how the doctor could test his patience sometimes…

"For each point of interrogation," Spock said earnestly, "you gave up only the most innocuous details your mind could summon. Humorous anecdotes. Rather than allow your thoughts to go where Selmar intended, you forced other information forward. I believe that is why the neural device caused such significant damage." Spock regarded McCoy with no small amount of respect. "Leonard, you showed a degree of mental fortitude that is both admirable and remarkable. Contrary to what you believe, you protected the integrity of this crew to great detriment to yourself. By those actions, you are not only trustworthy, but to be commended for valor."

McCoy gaped at him, mouth slightly parted in a dumbfounded expression. But Spock had been around humans long enough to recognize the warring glimmers of hope and doubt in the man's eyes.

At last, Dr. McCoy swallowed hard and pushed whatever he was feeling back behind his prickly exterior. "My god, Spock, that almost sounded like a compliment."

"As I said, I am merely correcting your erroneous summation of facts."

McCoy let out a small smirk, a trace of his usual temperament returning to the surface. But then his eyes clouded with haunted memory. "You- you're sure? About…I tried so hard, but I didn't think it did any good."

Spock nodded. "I am certain, Doctor. Selmar may have used the information he brutally extracted, but he did not get what he originally intended."

McCoy ran a hand over his hair. "Well…" He cleared his throat. "I guess that's something."

"It is the only thing that matters." Spock cast a pointed look around the room. "Now, I suggest you get some proper rest and refrain from further alcoholic consumption."

McCoy rolled his eyes as Spock turned toward the door.

"I'll, uh," he spoke up. "I'll rescind my last report."

Spock paused to incline his head in acceptance and approval. He was pleased that Leonard would be all right.

* * *

Jim felt like an awful friend. He'd barely been able to check on Bones with Starfleet contacting him almost non-stop. At first there were lots of discussions about what to do with the two alien prisoners, and then more discussions after one of them passed away, and finally even more when it came time to turn over the last surviving war criminal. Jim was glad to be rid of him, and didn't plan to give him a single further thought. All Kirk cared about was making sure his crew was safe and sound.

Which, now that he finally had a minute, he realized couldn't be said of his CMO. From what he'd heard from a few crew members, McCoy had hardly left his quarters and was avoiding everyone. A brief conversation with Dr. M'Benga confirmed that Bones wasn't even willing to resume his duties in Sickbay, which was a big red flag. Usually Bones threw himself into his work when he was stressed. Jim had figured McCoy would take this whole experience hard, and he wished he had told some of those Starfleet admirals to call back later.

Jim opened a private channel from his ready room. "Kirk to McCoy."

" _McCoy here._ "

"You had anything to eat today, Bones?" he asked without preamble.

" _What are you, my mother?_ "

Jim smiled. The gruff response was actually encouraging. "I'm gonna take that as a no. And neither have I. Meet you in the mess in ten?"

There was a prolonged pause before McCoy responded with a tentative, " _Alright_."

"Great. Kirk out." Jim closed the com. That was easier than he'd anticipated.

He headed down to the mess, arriving just as McCoy did. Jim furrowed his brow as he took in the shadows under the doctor's eyes. They weren't as prominent as he'd been expecting, though, so maybe Bones wasn't doing that badly.

The mess wasn't very full at this time, so they grabbed some trays from the replicators and picked out a table in the back corner for some privacy. Jim watched McCoy pick at his food, eating a bite only once every minute or so.

"You doing okay?" Jim asked.

McCoy shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah."

"It's okay if you're not. What Selmar did…"

Bones flinched at the name.

"You can't blame yourself," Jim hurried to say. "No one here or at Command does."

McCoy set his utensil down. "I know. And I did, at first. But then I had a talk with Spock."

Jim's brows shot upward. "You talked with Spock?" he repeated. Those two were like oil and water…despite the friendship they'd formed over the years, Jim couldn't quite picture Spock dealing with the usually emotionally charged McCoy.

Bones shrugged. "The pointy-eared hobgoblin makes sense on occasion."

Jim just shook his head. Man, he wished he'd seen that bonding session between the two. For Bones to _agree_ with Spock's logic…oh, Jim was gonna be playing that card a lot in the future. He tamped down his mischievous excitement as McCoy's expression fell a fraction.

"But…I do think I need a little more time to fully…deal with everything," Bones admitted.

Jim nodded in understanding. "I'm here if you want to talk. Or have a nightcap."

McCoy's lips curved upward. "I'll take you up on the latter. Just don't tell Spock; he doesn't approve of alcohol as medicine."

Jim scoffed. "What does he know? Alcohol doesn't even affect him."

McCoy straightened. "Speak of the devil."

Jim craned a look over his shoulder and saw Spock and Uhura entering the mess. Uhura spotted them and immediately made a beeline for their table, Spock trailing behind.

"Hey." She smiled at McCoy. "How are you doing?"

"Fine," Bones replied, but at least he sounded a little more genuine about it. "I've been cleared for duty."

"Glad to hear it," she said.

"You doing okay?" McCoy asked.

Uhura nodded, and slipped her arm in Spock's. "Nothing some good company and a cup of tea can't cure."

Jim frowned as his gaze landed on the blue stone hanging around her neck. "You're still wearing that?" he blurted.

Uhura shot him a perplexed look, then followed his gaze to the necklace. She reached up to finger it. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Jim exchanged a look with McCoy, who seemed equally mystified. "Um, well, I just thought you'd take offense to the whole tracking device thing."

"It is not a tracking device," Spock interjected, and Jim thought he sounded somewhat miffed, which only provided further amusement. "It is a Vulcan amulet made of vokaya, a memory stone."

Jim fought to hold back a full grin. "That happens to emit a signal easily tracked," he pointed out, glancing at Bones again.

McCoy put his hands up. "Leave me out of this one."

Uhura put one hand on her hip. "That signal brought us back together after we'd been lost and separated. I find that rather romantic."

Jim shrugged. "Okay, sure."

"Which is why I had one commissioned for Spock also as soon as we arrived at the starbase," she added.

McCoy made a startled choking sound. "You did?" he asked, perking up slightly and smiling almost wickedly at the Vulcan. Jim grinned too. Oh the joke possibilities…Spock on a leash, Spock being radioactive when he sets off alarms…

Uhura narrowed her eyes on them. "You know what, considering you two seem to get into trouble more than us, I'm thinking Spock and I should have some made for you."

Jim blinked. "Uh…"

Spock's eyes glinted with a hint of smugness. "I concur. It would be most advantageous to locate the captain and doctor when they go missing."

"Hey!" McCoy protested. "There is no 'when' with me. For Jim, yes."

"How did this get turned around on me?" Kirk exclaimed.

"You really need me to make a list?" Bones retorted. "Because I'm sure Spock could recite every single incident in chronological order."

Jim shook his head with put-upon exasperation, but the truth was he was glad to see his friends, his family, whole and well and together again. Because if he could say that at the end of the day, then it was a good one.


End file.
